The Lucky Blue Rock
A tale where you see Makari Banawava take on the Primarch Roboute Guilliman himself and walk away still alive
Roboute Guilliman’s forces on Drainnic VI had engaged the Ork Waaagh! months ago, yet in this conflict he had gained almost nothing as a result. The Guard regiments, his own sons of the Ultramarines, and the Adeptus Custodes shield company that were all under his command were somehow engaged in a war of attrition against these Orks. Guilliman was at his command post, surrounded by advisers. He was poring over everything he had in terms of information against these xenos and how they conducted war while those under him shouted orders at each other. It left him stupefied that they could counter his strategies so effectively. Especially when their standard method was simply trying to engage the enemy as soon as possible. Guilliman would have laughed had that been the situation he came to, but these Orks fought like nothing he’s seen since the Great Crusade. Since his brother Horus slew the Warboss on Ullanor. And in his research again when his brother Vulkan fought the Beast in the Thirty-third Millennium. His cross-referencing of these events and how the Orks of those days fought as compared to the Orks he is fighting now lead to only one conclusion; that the Warboss that was leading this Waaagh! possesses a tactical acumen almost unheard of amongst their kind. This thought troubled Guilliman, especially if it meant that, if history were to repeat itself, he would have to engage this monster.
What little land Guilliman did gain in this war against the Orks came at the cost of thousands of men, both mortal and Astartes alike, and he fought ever harder to keep a hold of it. Yet it would seem that somewhere else on the field of battle, he would proceed to lose a crucial piece of territory. Orks died in greater numbers to take it, but when factoring in their reproduction rate, the difference was negligible. Guilliman was effectively locked in perpetual conflict with this Ork, both trying to out think each other and yet neither getting the upper hand.
Theoretical, Guilliman thought, this war will continue needlessly if I stay, but if I leave, the Orks will surely take this planet and the system as a whole.
Practical, he continued, if this world is to remain in the Imperium’s hands, then I must follow my brothers’ examples. Engaging the Warboss has proven the most effective way of dealing with threats such as this.
Guilliman’s command center continued their shouting match on what plans should be thought of next when Guilliman raised his gauntleted hand. Silence fell immediately.
“I know what must be done,” he said, “These Orks effectively have us in a deadlock, we war with each other and neither side has been able to get the upper hand. Looking back at previous examples, and if this Warboss is as dangerous as his predecessors have been, then I must follow Vulkan’s lead. I must engage the Ork that leads this army.”
The command post’s already silent atmosphere quickly turned into a tense stare-down between Guilliman and the commanders under him. Only Colquan, the Custodes who Guilliman keeps on personal retainer, had the courage to say anything to him.
“Lord Guilliman, I can assume you’ll need a personal escort?”
Guilliman and the rest of the command post looked at Colquan, the humans were in absolute horror, but Guilliman respected his bluntness. Colquan was a crude man, yes, he often criticized Guilliman openly, it was one of the reasons he kept the Custodian around, but he was glad nonetheless that he agreed with his plan, he would have said otherwise.
“Yes, I will. I need you to call back your brothers, Colquan. They and my Victrix Honor Guard will provide us the chance to carve our way up the field of battle, Aggressor squads Danian, Romules and Ulysses will provide immediate fire support against the Orks that will engage us along the way. While that is going on I need three Leeman Russ tank squadrons to mount themselves up on the eastern canyon wall and begin shelling the Orks’ primary Scrapyard. This will provide us the distraction we need to get up the field faster. Once we make it to the Warboss, I need as many of the remaining men to keep the enemy off of me while I engage their leader.”
As Guilliman finished his order, his advisors were in grim acceptance, Colquan’s face was absolutely devoid of emotion, yet his eyes showed he was in deep contemplation. The two Victrix Guard, Battle-Brothers Damodes and Thavian, behind him shifted slightly in anticipation, Guilliman could hear. He knew they would follow him into the Eye of Terror if he asked them. It was a comforting thought.
Eventually Colquan and the commanders accepted the orders and began putting the plan into motion. As they did so, Guilliman took his helmet off the table before him and put it over his head, connecting it to the Armor of Fate. He then took the Emperor’s Sword and drew it from it’s sheath, its blade immediately erupting in incandescent flame. He placed both of his hands on the handle, and drove it into the ground. Guilliman scanned the men and women before him and spoke with confidence.
“The Orks pride themselves on their skills in combat, slaughtering men and women like butchers, there is no honor to this kind of warfare, only disgust and depravity. If these xenos scum believe their way of conquest is superior to ours, then they’d have swept us clean from the galaxy, but by the Emperor and by Terra that is not so! Let us show these Orks what it means to challenge a Son of the Emperor to war, I can assure you, they will be left wanting!”
His rallying words carried themselves through the post and its immediate surroundings, the human commanders and advisors cheered in agreement, as did any surrounding serfs or soldiers who heard Guilliman’s little speech. Colquan gave a grim smile and quickly left to gather his brothers and Guilliman’s sons for the coming conflict. But it wasn’t just the humans and Astartes in the camp that heard Guilliman’s words, for in a storm drain not far from the command post, tucked in a little corner and hiding in the shadows was a particularly lucky grot, who happened to hear everything the Primarch said with utter clarity.
Makari Banawava crouched in the storm drain, quietly listening to the giant humie’s speech, every word filled the grot with both excitement and fear. For starters he’d get to see the Warlord go toe-to-toe with a giant humie, a fight he’d love nothing more to witness. Then followed quickly by the idea that if this giant blue humie killed Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, Da Profit of Gork and Mork, he’d lose the one thing keeping him from being Squig food, also his only friend.
Ol’ Ghazzy’s gotta ‘ear ‘bout this! He thought to himself. Makkari clutched his blue rock, whispered, “Keep me lucky,” then scampered through the storm drain until he reached the exposed sewer entrance Ghazghkull had sent him to investigate.
Once he reached the entrance, he spilled into a trench that was dug by the Imperial Guard and fell flat on his face. Next to him, witnessing Makari’s trip, was a surprised looking guard. Makari just managed to look up at him when he heard the humie yell “GROT!” Then he pointed his weapon at him. Makari closed his eyes and expected to hear the sound of a lasgun firing, but instead he only heard the clicking of jammed weaponry. Opening his eyes, he saw the humie’s angered face as he looked at his gun, looked back at the grot, and back down at the gun. Makari quickly stood up as the humie threw his gun to the side, drew his bayonet and shouted, “Die, xenos scum! For the Emperor!”
Makari yelped, and jumped back as the humie thrusted his blade downwards. It missed entirely and stuck itself into the ground. Makari quickly then grabbed the humie’s forearm in both of his little hands, and bit down hard. Flinching in pain, the humie reeled backwards and in the process kicked the freestanding bayonet, knocking it out of its place. Makari grabbed the blade from the ground, took it in both of his hands, and leapt towards the guardsmen, plunging the bayonet firmly into the man’s chest, sliding the narrow blade in between his ribs. Makari wasn’t sure of what he hit, but soon after sticking him, the humie pushed Makari off of him, stumbled further back, and then collapsed against the outer sandbag barrier, dead.
“Mork’s toofy grin! Yaz are lucky!” Makkari exclaimed towards his little blue rock.
Makari looked around and failed to see any other humies. He walked over to the dead humie, kicked him in his limp leg, and then climbed on top of the corpse to get over the trench. Looking down, Makari spat on the corpse’s helmet, and then shifting his gaze across the way in front of him. In the distance across several kilometers, he could see Ghazghkull’s Waaagh! engaging with the humie’s army, and on the far end of the field, there was a raised hill crowned with a junked Stompa. That was Ghazghkull’s command post. Groaning heavily, Makari scrambled off the trench, went over to a large boulder, grabbed his bana from behind it, and began his long trek back to his Warlord.
Making his way towards the battle, Makari ducked and weaved in between the legs of both the humies and the Orks, keeping Ghazghkull’s bana low to keep it from exposing him. Though it did give him the opportunity to use it to sweep the legs out some of the less balanced humies. It took Makari hours to get across the battle, only narrowly escaping being stepped on by both sides, but when he noticed that there were more Orks than humies around him, he confidently raised Ghazghkull’s bana to help make sure he didn’t get crushed.
Eventually he made it to the junked Stompa, there, he found Warlord Ghazghkull at the top of it surveying the battlefield below with an unimpressed grimace. Makari, exhausted from the journey and the climb up the Stompa, stumbled up to the Warlord, and stammered to the towering Ork the plan that the humies had come up with.
“Oi! Boss!... I need ta… tell yaz… wut I ‘eard!”
Ghazghkull turned towards the grot, his one remaining organic eye looked down, his grimace shifted slightly into an expecting grin. “Roight, den, tell me wot yaz got.”
Makari regaled to Ghazghkull the plans that Guilliman had conceived, in re-telling him the plan, Ghazghkull’s smile got wider and wider, and when Makari told him the part where Guilliman would challenge him to personal combat, Ghazghkull stood straight, his huge stature expressing his massive Kustom klaw and mega armour. Once Makkari finished his report, Ghazghkull looked back at the battlefield and spoke to Makari without looking at him.
“Just as Gork an’ Mork told me, Makari. Been too long since I ‘ad a good foight on me ‘ands. Da Waaagh! ain’t stoppin’ ‘ere, ya ‘ear me? Wez gonna let ‘em take da Scrapyard, no good loot in der any’ow, an I’z gonna krump dis humie giant. Wut’d yaz say ‘is name was?”
“I fink dey called ‘im Gil-ee-min?’ Makkari responded.
“Roight, Gileemin, dis ‘umie ain’t gonna last long against me powa klaw. I’m gonna enjoy addin’ ‘is ‘ead ta me boss pole”
Ghazghkull then shouted at the top of his lungs down to his ladz outside surrounding the stompa and to the Orks making their way to the battle below.
“Oi! Boyz! Get ya shootas and Tankbustas ova to da eastern canyon! Der’s gonna be some new scrap der ready for da takin’! Nobz! You lot’re comin’ wit me! We’z gonna krump some ‘umies! Gork an’ Mork wants me ta foight da ‘umies’ leada! Well I tell ya gitz, it’s gonna be a good one!”
The orks down below all WAAGH’d in response to Ghazghkull’s orders, once they started to move, Da Profit turned back to the grot and said in a tone more hushed.
“Makari, I’m gonna need ya to stay ‘ere. Can’t ‘ave me favorite bana wava gettin’ ‘imself squished. It’d be too dangerous for ya, boy.”
Makari was disappointed to hear that, he wanted to be with his Warlord when he gave the humies the krumping they deserved. But he wasn’t about to disregard what Ghazghkull ordered him to do, for fear he’d be punished, or killed, if he did.
Ghazghkull proceeded to leap off the top of the Stompa and down to the ground below, his gang of nobz, both in and out of mega armour surrounded the Warlord, and they made their way to the battlefield. As Ghazghkull walked away, Makari walked up to the edge of the top of the Stompa, and nervously rubbed his blue rock.
“Keep ‘im lucky fer me,” he whispered to it.
Guiliman’s strike team cut through the Ork’s army with ease, the Aggressor squads torched through the xenos by the dozens with their flamestorm gauntlets. If any of the Orks managed to make it through, they were quickly cut down by the Custodes surrounding Guilliman. As they progressed through, however, the Orks’ sheer weight of numbers did manage to take their toll, one by one the Aggressors were cut down by lucky shots from shootas or well aimed swings from choppas until only four of the eighteen aggressors remained. On the other side of the battlefield, Ghazghkull’s nobz tore through the Imperium’s forces without mercy, slaughtering guardsmen and Astartes. These two colossal forces met in the center of the battlefield, Guilliman’s strike team spread out, no Custodes would allow any Orks to pass through them while the Aggressors peeled off to continue the battle elsewhere. Likewise, Ghazghkull’s nobz eagerly spread out, brandishing their choppas and power klaws, ready to fight if the opportunity showed itself. The two forces created an open clearing, both Warlord and Lord Commander strode to present themselves, Guilliman was flanked on both sides by Thavian and Damodes.
The surrounding battlefield continued to rage around them, Guilliman and his Victrix Guard brandished their swords. Ghazghkull sauntered across from them, his massive Kustom klaw and Twin big shoota each looked as threatening as their wielder. His stikkbombs rattled atop his mega armor. Moments of silence passed between the two, then Guilliman spoke first.
“Ork, you have proven to be a larger threat than your lesser brethren, most of your kind crumble when an organized force rallies against you, yet you remain defiant. An admirable trait, but ultimately futile. Let it be known that I, Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium of Man, will be the one who will cut you down.”
“Oi, ladz! Yoo ‘ear dat? Looks like Gileemin ‘ere finks ‘e can take me on!” The nobz surrounding Ghazghkull all laughed in response. “Don’t ya know who I am? I’m Warlord Ghazghkull! Da Profit o’ Gork an’ Mork! Dis Waaagh! is da biggest der eva was, an’ I ain’t gonna let sum ‘umie try an’ stop me. I got one fing ta say to yaz, Gileemin, WAAAAAGH!!!”
The surrounding forces, both nobz and Custodes, charged towards each other, yet they gave both left their leaders space between the two of them to allow both Primarch and Profit ample space to engage each other.
Ghazghkull surged forward towards Guilliman, Guilliman and his Victrix Guard advanced towards him in kind. Along the way, Ghazghkull pumped round after round from his Twin big shoota into the three of them, the Guard’s Ultima storm shields stopped almost all of them, but nothing could halt what came after. Once he was close enough, Ghazghkull swung his huge Kustom klaw downwards and caught Brother Thavian in his swipe, the three giant metallic digits pierced right through the space marine’s ceremite, impaling him from the side. Ghazghkull took the already dead Space Marine and used him to batter Damodes away, knocking both Battle-Brothers metres away from their Primarch. Guilliman responded by volleying several shots from his underslung bolter on the Hand of Dominion, yet the rounds that landed on the huge Ork seemed to do little, exploding harmlessly on his Mega armour or only grazing his green skin. Ghazghkull closed the distance between him and the Primarch quickly, and repeated his maneuver, bringing down his Kustom klaw. Guilliman’s demigod-like reflexes allowed him to dodge the strike, stepping backwards. Ghazghkull’s miss overextended him, leaving his back and face exposed. Guilliman clenched his Hand of Dominion, and threw it forward, the artificer’s power fist found purchase square on Ghazghkull’s forehead.
Guilliman was led to believe that the Hand of Dominion could crumble rhinos, land raiders, any sort of heavily-reinforced vehicle with ease, for that was what it did. Yet when his power first made contact with the Ork’s head, instead of eviscerating it and killing him, it only sent him staggering back a few feet. When Ghazghkull finally regained his footing, he shook his head, then stared down Guilliman while clanging one of his klawed fingers against his skull’s metallic parts.
“Me ‘ead’s a bit thicka than ya’d fink, ‘umie.” Ghazghkull said in a dead cold tone.
Guilliman rebounded by taking the Emperor’s Sword and lifting it, pointing it at the Warlord, “Let us see if your neck is of the same calibre, then,” he responded.
The two met once again in melee combat, Ghazghkull, learning not to over stretch himself, lunged with his Kustom klaw. Guilliman stepped to the side, turned around, and with his back to the Ork, used his left arm and swung it under Ghazghkull’s. Using his Primarch strength and the might of the Armor of Fate, he dug himself in and only just managed to get Ghazghkull off his feet, flipping the massive Ork over the Primarch and onto his back in front of him. Guilliman plunged the Emperor’s Sword downwards, it’s flames rippling through the air, aiming at Ghazghkull’s throat. Ghazghkull raised his Kustom klaw in response and caught the blade in between its fingers. When he tried to snap the blade in half, he was surprised to learn it wouldn’t give. Now knowing that wouldn’t work, Ghazghkull got on his feet, and pulled Guilliman closer to him and delivered to him a thunderous headbutt. Guilliman reeled in pain, his vision going white for a split second behind his helmet’s lenses. Taking the opportunity, Ghazghkull bounded forward and caught the Primarch in the gut with his massive arms, wrapped them around him, and drove him into the ground.
The Armor of Fate's Machine Spirit was doing everything it could to stop Ghazghkull from piercing its metallic hide, the repulsor field surrounding him strained under the Ork’s weight and punches. Ghazghkull’s stunning blow wore off on the Primarch and he was able to regain his senses, assessing the situation, Guilliman saw an opening and took it. As Ghazghkull swung his right arm again to punch Guilliman, the Primarch caught it with the Hand of Dominion and began to squeeze his fist. Ghazghkull’s hand was crushed underneath the power fist’s weight, the bones in his hand snapped and turned to powder. Finally feeling the pain from his hand, Ghazghkull tried to pull it back, but Guilliman would not let him go, then from Ghazghkull’s left, came the pommel from the Emperor’s Sword, swinging right into the Ork’s temple. The blow threw Ghazghkull off of his target. As he tried to shake off the pain, he felt another piercing blow from behind him. Turning around he found that one of the two Victrix Guard were still alive, and he had thrusted his power sword into a chink in Ghazghkull’s armor.
Ghazghkull responded to this cunning trick by swinging his power klaw downard, the guard had no way of defending himself and his body was cut in twain. Distracted by the Space Marine, Ghazghkull was caught off guard when Guilliman seized him by the collar of his mega armor, and swung him around and off his feet. He collapsed to the ground before the Primarch, who stood over him, with the Emperor’s Sword held aloft. Ghazghkull couldn’t think of anything to do that would be quick enough to stop that blade from cutting his head off, but he knew Gork and Mork had plans for him, so he played along with it. What happened next, not even Ghazghkull would have thought to happen.
Atop the Stompa, Makari watched the fight between Ghazzy and Gileemin start, and was rooting for his Warlord, but as it progressed he saw Gileemin get several good licks in on Da Profit, and Makari began to worry. He knew Ghazghkull was the strongest Ork there ever was, but somehow this humie was beating him! Makari took out his blue rock, held it in his hand and shouted at it.
“Yaz suppose ‘ta keep ‘im lucky for me, ya stupid git! ‘Ows ‘e suppose ‘ta keep the Waaagh! goin’ if ‘es to dead to do it!” He yelled
The rock did not respond.
“Fine! If ya want somethin’ done roight, ya gotta do it ya self!”
Makari scampled back down the Stompa, took up his boss's bana, and marched down towards the battlefield below.
As he weaved his way across the battlefield, he could see that it wasn’t looking so good for Ghazzy’s ladz, the nobz were good, really good, but against these shiney boyz they looked like, well, grots. Makari’s worry for his Warlord continued to rise, and when he reached the clearing between Gileemin and Ghazzy, it reached its paramount. He saw Ghazghkull on his hands and knees, his right hand crushed, and above him was Gileemin, with a flaming choppa hanging over his head. Makari panicked, though he prided himself on his out of character bravado that is unusual to see in grots, he really didn’t think interfering with this was a good idea. But then again, Ghazzy was his friend, and if that stupid blue rock wasn’t gonna save Ghazzy, then he was going to have to do it himself.
Makari looked around him, it seemed like no one was interested in seeing this fight, and Makari stepped into the clearing. He breathed a sigh of relief that no one noticed him, even with his bana waving in the air. As Makari snuck behind the giant humie, he again heard with perfect clarity what it was he was saying.
“You Ork filth, once again it takes a Son of the Emperor to cut the head off of this snake and put an end to this Waaagh! you’ve created. If it wasn’t for your kind, I dream of what could have been. Maybe Horus wouldn’t have been named Warmaster, and Mankind could rule the stars unimpeded. Or at the very
least, Vulkan would still be here, at my side.” Guilliman spoke with venom at the Ork.
As Makari snuck behind Guilliman, Ghazghkull raised his head and caught Makari in his sights. They locked eyes and stared at each other for a few moments. He was cunning enough to know that he shouldn’t reveal this to Guilliman, but also brutal enough to know that Makari isn’t going to do much of anything to the Primarch. Nevertheless, Ghazghkull tried to wink at Makari, but given his only one organic eye, it looked like a regular blink. Thankfully Makari got the message, and snuck close to Guilliman, raised his bana, and thumped him on his left shoulder.
Guilliman stopped speaking and looked down at the grot. The creature he saw was hideous, a large and pointy nose with ears to match, a crude and uneven chin, and a helmet with three metallic horns protruding from it. As he quickly scanned the grot over he saw its banner, even more hideous than its wielder. Before Guilliman could do anything, Makari barked up at the giant.
"Oi! Yaz best leave Ghazzy alone or I'll krump ya wit' me bana, ya git!"
Guilliman kicked the grot away with his boot. Unfortunately in his planning and on the cusp of victory, the Primarch failed to consider the notion that maybe, however slight it could be, that Orks could form attachments. And he just so happened to kick the wrong grot.
Seeing Makari go flying sent Ghazghkull into a rage like no other, he lept up from the ground and tackled Guilliman again, sending blow after blow against him without pause. As Guilliman lay on the ground being battered, he only just managed to lift the Hand of Dominion, aimed the Bolter at the stikkbombs on Ghazghkull's back, and fired.
The explosion caused by the stikkbombs sent both Primarch and Profit in a daze. Ghazghkull was sent staggering across the field while Guilliman layed stunned again on the ground. Seeing his Lord Commander in this state, Colquan called for a retreat, and he and his Custodes went to retrieve the Primarch and return him to the command post. Likewise, Ghazghkull's nobz, those that survived, managed to corale Ghazghkull back to the Stompa, but not before the Warlord threatened his ladz to pick up Makari's body.
When Guilliman came to, he was atop The Macragge's Honor, in his personal chamber. With him was Colquan, and scores of apothecaries and medicae. Guilliman ushered the help to leave, making sure Colquan was the only one left so as to talk to him. The Custodes made no sign of interest or disinterest in the idea
of speaking to the Lord Commander, only following his orders.
"I failed, Colquan, I couldn't stop this… Ghazghkull… His Waaagh! has seen Orks in numbers unheard of since the Beast ran across the galaxy, and I couldn't defeat him." Guilliman said through a defeated sigh.
"Lord Guilliman," Colquan spoke, "If I may speak, you are not a peerless combatant like some of your brothers, though you are not without prowess, you are a tactician and a statesmen first and foremost."
"Yes, but even my methods as a general were found lackluster against this Ork. How did Vulkan do it, how did Horus do it? Their battles against those Orks seemed to work, yet when I apply the same methods, apply the same tactics, I have nothing to show for it." Guilliman looked down in disappointment and fell silent.
Colquan looked aside, as this seemed to be the moment to leave. He saluted the Lord Commander and took his leave from Guilliman's quarters. After he left, Guilliman sent a missive to the fleet captain to issue an evacuation from the planet and to shell it once the Imperium had left. Once that was done, Guilliman walked over to the viewing port, and looked down over Drainnic VI, he could see Ork vessels leaving the planet, same as his men were, but he knew that there would be greenskins left on the surface. Instead of performing his usual mental exercises of theoreticals and practicals or planning his next move against this Ork Waaagh!, he instead spent it reminiscing of what few pleasant memories he had of brothers, had they been traitors or loyalists, he did not care, he just wanted to remember them.
Makari woke up at the foot of Ghazghkull’s throne on his Battleship, looking out of the windows he saw that the ship was already moving through space and away from Drainnic VI.
“‘Ey boss, wut are we doin? The foight’s down there!” Makari spoke.
Hearing his voice, Ghazghkull immediately shot out his throne and picked up Makari by the scruff of his neck, holding him in front of his face, giving him a gaze that could kill men.
“I told ya ta stay at da Stompa! Wut wer ya finkin’ goin’ down der! Gileemin coulda killed ya, ya git!” Ghazghkull fumed at the little grot.
“I-I-I’m sorry, boss! Me blue rock wasn’t keepin’ ya lucky so I ‘ad to do somefin’!”
Ghazghkull stared down the grot for a good few moments in silence, then dropped him on the floor, sat back down and spoke in a calmer voice.
“I’m just glad ya safe, Makari, can’t be loosin’ me favorite bana wava now, can I?”
Makari gave a huge sigh of relief, and sat at his Warlord’s throne in silence as the rest of the crew moved the fleet away from the planet. Mere seconds passed before both grot and Ork were back to their original moods, though Ghazghkull always was the more serious one, both were jabbing at each other and making jokes. Eventually Makari asked Ghazghkull a question that he had been curious about since he woke up on the battleship.
“Oi boss, ‘ow’d that ‘umie foight? Was ‘e any good?”
Ghazghkull sat and pondered the question for a good while, the half eaten squig in his hand stopped twitching by the time he answered.
“‘E ain’t no Yarrick, but dat ‘umie knows ‘ow ta foight. Wouldn’t mind ‘avin’ anotha go at ‘im, ta settle da score fer givin' ya 'is boot.”